Blondes DO Have More Fun
by Spader's Main Squeeze
Summary: Red and Lizzie have been on the run for some time and decide to change things up. As the old saying goes, "blondes have more fun...or do they?" (One shot...unless Reddington requests a dye job as well!)


Standard Disclaimer: this is rated M for mature...or naughty, if naughty started with an "m." I don't own any of the characters, though I'd be happy to take them off NBC's hands! ;-)

As always, I appreciate any and all feedback - I can't improve/grow/all that happy jazz without some constructive criticism!

Rousing from a restless sleep, Lizzie reached over to check the time on the antiquated alarm clock sitting atop the nightstand. The digits "2:07" glowed green and she sighed. Insomnia was becoming the new norm since fleeing D.C. after her fateful encounter with Connelly. There were no regrets. In fact, she relished the opportunity to come to Red's defense; this role reversal was not only welcome but also empowering. Lost in her thoughts she rolled back over in search of her bedmate. All she found instead was a set of sheets cooled by Red's departure, no doubt in response to his own bouts of sleeplessness. Lizzie swung her legs over the bedside and stood, her feet met by the worn carpet of the safe house bedroom. This particular stop hardly featured accommodations worth writing home about, but it didn't matter…what mattered was that they were together…and safe…at least for the time being.

She reached for Red's button down shirt strewn across the rickety wooden chair sitting on the other side of the nightstand. Enveloping her body with the cloth, she took a deep breath, inhaling each and every last bit of Red's scent that lingered. Like consuming a fine wine, she paused to identify each of the smells swirling around her: his cologne mingled with his masculine scent, hints of gunpowder from the most recent standoff, and the cool outdoors of pine and evergreen from a recent romantic encounter. A soft smile swept across her face as she walked into the living area in search of Red. She found him sitting on the time worn davenport reading a cloth-bound book seemingly just as ancient. He sported a pair of navy boxers and gray shirt; that man could look sexy wearing just about anything.

Red looked up from the text and smiled at the sight of his love nearing him, wearing nothing but his shirt and panties. Upon her descent, Lizzie kissed him on the forehead and sat down next to him, nuzzling against the scar on his neck from one of their first meetings. "Trouble sleeping, sweetheart?" questioned Red, his voice soft and mellow. "Yeah…I'm starting to take after you. What I wouldn't give for a comfortable bed and eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Being on high alert 24/7 is starting to take its toll." Red nodded and kissed her forehead, lingering a moment to let the sweet scent of strawberries from her shampoo infiltrate his senses. This also allowed him to work up the nerve to broach a topic with Lizzie he's been contemplating for weeks.

"Lizzie, there is something we need to discuss, something of great importance." Lizzie lifted her head to look at Reddington, the color running from her face. Despite their newfound mutual trust, it was prefaces such as these that still made her apprehensive. "We have crisscrossed the United States, doing all we can to stay one step ahead of the FBI and their cronies. We have assumed identities, taken on different personas, and drawn upon favors from my associates. While we have been successful thus far, it may not be enough," mused Red. "Our images have been splashed across most wanted posters and graced the case files held by law enforcement officials. I think its time to pay Dr. Abraham Maltz a visit. He does _fabulous_ work, and is very discreet…well, most of the time," he said with a faraway look in his eyes. Taken aback by the suggestion, Lizzie sat up and started to speak in protest. Seeing the look of shock on her face, Red smirked, knowing full well his suggestion would get a rise out of her. "Plastic surgery? Really? I'm all for making sacrifices, but…" Lizzie said nervously. Red reached for her hand, effectively silencing her concerns. "Lizzie, I was just kidding. I would never let that man change a thing," he said lovingly, his previously occupied hand moving to her face, brushing away the stray strands of hair shading her eyes. "How about, instead, we try something a little less drastic, like changing the color of your hair. I, personally, love your chestnut locks, but mixing things up might do the trick. I've actually taken the liberty of purchasing a few coloring kits from the drugstore around the corner. If I had my way you'd receive the celebrity treatment at the Salon de Coiffure en Paris at the hands of my dear friend Serge Normant, but alas, you're stuck with me," he grinned.

Lizzie smiled, trying to imagine the great Raymond Reddington donning colorist gloves and feverishly shaking the tint and developer, mixing it his satisfaction. "Well, since neither of us are able to sleep, we might as well go for it. Though of course, there are always other ways to occupy our time," Lizzie said as she stood, fingering the buttons on the shirt suggestively. Reddington began to feel his member swell, a rush of blood engorging his anatomy. "There is nothing more in this world that I want to do…" he said, he voice heavy with exasperation, "but, we should probably tend to the task at hand first." He set the book aside and stood, trying, without much success, to conceal his arousal. Lizzie took advantage of the situation, reaching for his member through the slit in his boxers, gently caressing and palpating it much to his delight. "I agree. Let's get this taken care of, and if you do a good job, there might be a reward for you in the end." With that, Lizzie withdrew her hand and walked to what she presumed to be the kitchen. She pulled a chair from the bewildered dinette set and gathered the supplies from Red's shopping excursion. After mixing the materials she perched herself on the seat, awaiting her stand-in stylist to work his magic. "Well, this should be an experience," Lizzie thought to herself, trying to assuage her anxiety about the change. "Let's hope the old saying that blondes have more fun rings true."

Red approached her from behind and wrapped a towel around her shoulders to protect the shirt beneath. He squeezed the milky white substance onto her hair, noting to himself, "I guess there's a first time for everything!" Reddington massaged the coloring agent into her hair, saturating each strand. A slight moan slipped from Lizzie's lips as she took pleasure in the manipulation of her scalp, followed by a teasing groan of disgust as he completed his duties. He unwrapped the ill-fitting plastic sleeves from his hands and brought another chair around to sit opposite of Lizzie. The pair spent the next 20 minutes chatting about the book Reddington was reading, Joseph Mitchell's _Up in the Old Hotel_. Engrossed in the conversation, it took several rings on the timer to catch their attention.

The chairs creaked as they stood; yet another reminder of the less than ideal living conditions…or at least, quite a departure from what Reddington had grown accustomed to. They walked to the sink and Red lifted the faucet handle, carefully dipping his fingertips into the water that spurted and sputtered from the tap. Finally reaching the desired temperature he guided Lizzie's head under the stream of water. Red's groin came to a rest against her backside as she bent over the sink; staving off his arousal was nearly impossible. His hands skillfully wove through her hair to rinse the tint that remained. Once finished and shush of the faucet silenced, Red reached for a towel and wrapped her newly tinged locks inside.

Lizzie stood up upright and stretched. She tussled her hair with the towel to dry it further and began to imagine her new look. "God, I hope it turned out…not so much for myself but for Red…I'll be devastated if he doesn't like it," she thought to herself. With apprehension she allowed the towel to fall by her side, her right hand tightly clasping the fabric in nervous anticipation. In moments their eyes met. Red cocked his head, a sly smile drifting across his face after softly biting his lower lip. "Lizzie," he said, a single word so heavily laden with adoration it nearly broke him. "You look absolutely beautiful. I'm glad we went with the blonde…it makes your gorgeous eyes sparkle that much more." Lizzie dropped the towel and took several steps toward him. She leaned in and kissed him, her hands wrapped around the crook of his neck. "Mr. Reddington," she said, each syllable articulated succinctly. "Or shall I call you Mr. Normant." Red laughed heartily and pulled Lizzie closer to him." "You know what I prefer." And with that he led her into the bedroom, eager to collect on his reward for a job well done.


End file.
